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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 7, Página 52
It
was
seven
o'clock
when
we
got
into
the
car
with
Tom
and
went
to
Long
Island.
Tom
talked
a
lot,
happy
and
laughing,
but
his
voice
was
far
from
us.
Human
sympathy
has
limits.
We
let
their
sad
arguments
fade
with
the
city
lights.
Thirty—a
lonely
decade,
fewer
single
men
to
know,
less
excitement,
less
hair.
But
Jordan
was
next
to
me.
She
was
smart,
unlike
Daisy.
As
we
crossed
the
dark
bridge,
she
leaned
on
my
shoulder.
Her
hand
made
me
feel
better.
We
drove
on
through
the
cool
evening.
The
young
Greek,
Michaelis,
ran
the
coffee
shop
near
the
ash-heaps.
He
was
the
main
witness
at
the
inquiry.
He
slept
in
the
heat
until
after
five.
Then
he
walked
to
the
garage
and
found
George
Wilson
sick
in
his
office.
Wilson
was
pale
and
shaking.
Michaelis
told
him
to
rest,
but
Wilson
said
he
would
miss
business.
While
Michaelis
tried
to
help,
noise
started
upstairs.
"I
locked
my
wife
up
there,"
Wilson
said.
"She
stays
until
tomorrow.
Then
we
move
away."
Michaelis
was
shocked.
They
were
neighbors
for
four
years.
Wilson
never
talked
like
this.
He
was
tired,
sat
in
the
doorway,
and
watched
cars.
He
always
laughed
weakly.
He
was
his
wife's
man.
Michaelis
wanted
to
know
more,
but
Wilson
said
nothing.
He
looked
at
Michaelis
with
suspicion
and
asked
about
his
days.
Michaelis
felt
uneasy.
Some
workers
came,
and
he
left.
He
planned
to
come
back
later
but
forgot.
After
seven,
he
heard
Mrs.
Wilson's
voice,
loud,
in
the
garage.
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